


(my pain fits in the palm of your freezing hand)

by FortySevens



Category: Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Again, Angst with a Happy Ending, Developing Relationship, F/M, Karen is in danger, Karen is pissed at a lot of things, Kastle Christmas Secret Santa, Mentions numerous other characters from DD and TP, Post DDS3, and Frank is high on her list, but not as high as the reason why she’s stuck in this cabin in the woods in the first place, kastle christmas, post tps2
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:42:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28392600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FortySevens/pseuds/FortySevens
Summary: Now, Karen doesn’t have the tightest grip on the passage of time these days, but she knows for sure that it’s way too damn soon for Matt and Elektra to have gotten back to the city, taken care of Poindexter—to whatever degree Matt and his faith will allow him to—and turned back around to get her.Which means—Well, it could mean a lot of things, but first and foremost, it means she needs to get her gun.
Relationships: Frank Castle/Karen Page
Comments: 31
Kudos: 80
Collections: kastlechristmas2k20





	(my pain fits in the palm of your freezing hand)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ninzied](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninzied/gifts).



> For Ninzied. Happy holidays Nina! 
> 
> Nina asked for developing relationship with angst with a happy ending, which, yeah, that’s what this is! Hope you had a great holiday and an even more awesome new year! 2021 is going to be much better than 2020 for all of us, because I damn well say. so.
> 
> Title from Taylor Swift’s ivy from the evermore album, because she didn't have to go that hard, but she did, and I love her for it.

Karen hates _everything_ about this.

It’s bad enough that she almost _died_ , because some idiot military doctors decided to play god and use Benjamin Poindexter as their damn guinea pig for whatever medical marvel they’re apparently _on the verge_ of discovering.

Of course, because her life treats her like the protagonist of a goddamn horror movie, Poindexter escaped, revenge the only thing on his twisted mind.

She doesn’t even remember how it all happened.

Everything between leaving the office after a hard-won victory on one of Matt and Foggy’s cases and waking up in a quiet room at Metro General is just one big blank.

Not remembering, waking up to the just-barely-beginning-to-heal stab wounds on her side, bruises on her ribs, the sprained ankle, the knife wounds on her arms that are probably going to scar, and the long scrape on her cheek, pain radiating through her entire body—it makes it worse.

Even what Matt and Foggy did tell her of that night, how Elektra was actually on her way to the office to collect Matt for dinner when she saw Karen being pulled into an alley by Poindexter at knifepoint, wasn’t enough to help. Apparently Elektra was able to fight him off long enough for Daredevil to arrive, which gave them both enough of an upper hand to get Poindexter to retreat so they could get Karen to the hospital.

All the same, it doesn’t replace _actually knowing_ what happened.

And now she’s here.

In a cabin.

In the woods.

She doesn’t even know _where_ these goddamn woods are.

When Matt and Elektra drove her out here in the middle of the night—using the latter’s connections to sneak her down to the hospital’s underground parking garage, the ones usually only reserved for the high-paying VIP patients, and into a blacked-out SUV—Karen figured it would be some high-class, fancy cabin, with the amenities fit for a wealthy jetsetter like Elektra Natchios.

But instead, she’s in a cozy little one-bedroom on the shore of some lake that probably has a name that she could find if she had a phone that has access to the internet on.

Her own phone was shattered in the scuffle with Poindexter—so Foggy told her, at least.

All she has now is a burner phone. The cabin has no cable, no internet, just an ancient television and a stack of old VHS tapes—all movies released at least a decade before she was born.

Mostly in the short days since she’s been hidden away in this winter wonder-hell, she’s just sleeps, still exhausted from the attack, her body focused on healing more than anything else.

When she’s bored, she stares out the window as snow falls down onto the frozen mystery lake, or cleans her gun.

Now, her gun is on the coffee table on one side of the small living room, and she’s curled up in the easy chair on the other, watching snow gather on the windowsill like she used to when she was little, back in Vermont, watching the first snowfall.

God, she hopes she’s nowhere near Vermont.

Being left alone with her thoughts is probably worse than the risk of having internet access, because it’s all she can do to avoid thinking about the fact that Matt and Elektra are back in the city, trying to stop Poindexter with the rest of the vigilantes milling around lower Manhattan. The way she sees it, she’ll either find out that they stopped him and get to go back to her life, or she’s going to live out her days in this bastardization of a winter wonderland.

The worst thing?

She’s not even allowed to _help_.

Not allowed to utilize her own contacts to track Poindexter’s ass down wherever the hell he’s hiding.

To do _anything_ so she can distract herself from the impending danger.

All she gets to do is face down her anger.

It just sits and simmers within her, burning her from the inside.

Karen sighs, then winces when her side twinges from the heaving of her chest. She curses under her breath as she shifts more of her weight onto her opposite hip to take some of the pressure off, which—well, it doesn’t really work.

Pain meds can only do so much when she’s being held together by surgical-grade stitches, thick bandages, and spite.

She’s not sure how much time she spends staring out at the window, when she hears the telltale crunch of tires on gravel.

The sound takes a few seconds to register, so far removed as she is from the usual sounds of the city, so far removed from the noises that usually make up the background buzz of her day.

Now, Karen doesn’t have the tightest grip on the passage of time these days, but she knows for sure that it’s way too damn soon for Matt and Elektra to have gotten back to the city, taken care of Poindexter—to whatever degree Matt and his faith will allow him to—and turned back around to get her.

Which means—

Well, it could mean a lot of things, but first and foremost, it means she needs to get her gun.

Easing her way out of the chair as quickly as she can manage without pain, she scoops her .380 off the coffee table before making her way over to the door. She gets there in time to hear the rumble of an engine cut off in front of the house.

Karen backs up to the wall next to one of the windows at the front of the house, carefully pulls the curtain aside so she can peer out.

There’s a gray, older-model sedan in front of the cabin—she doesn’t recognize it, but also, she lives in the city and no one she knows actually has a car.

Well, Elektra does, but she’s a wealthy socialite, so it doesn’t count.

The car door opens, and Karen holds her breath, hand tightening around the grip of her sidearm, tension building until she sees—

A heavy sigh gusts from her mouth, chest heaving hard enough that pain spikes through her side again.

Because it’s Frank Castle getting out of the car. 

And after what happened earlier this year at the hospital, she really, truly though she’d never see him again.

Thought the last she’d ever see of him face-to-face was in that hospital room, and the next time someone mentions him to her, it would be to tell her he finally succumbed to his never-ending war.

But here he is, slowly getting out of the car, taking a look around the white-washed landscape with an unreadable look on his face, snow gathering on the top of his head and dusting over his broad shoulders as he surveys the area before looking right at the house.

He looks—well, compared to the last time she saw him, and even this one glimpse from the side, through gauzy curtains, he looks a million times better. But that’s also not saying much, considering the deadened look in his eyes, the scars on his face, and the pallor of his skin under the harsh hospital lights.

Now though, now he looks _healthy_.

The house is set back far enough away from the driveway that that’s all she can really see of him as he slowly moves out from behind the car door, making to close it behind him. She sighs, clicks the safety back on her .380 and leaves it on the small table in the entryway.

Grabbing her coat, she drapes it over her shoulders, steels her spine, and opens the door.

As she steps out onto the porch, a gust of wind blows in the direction of the cabin, and she shivers, tightening her grip on the coat, “Hey,” she manages to say, when he looks at her. “What are you doing here?”

Frank stops short of closing the car door, and she sees the way his hand flexes by the window, index finger twitching, “You really asking me that?”

The low tone of his voice is a shock, almost sends her reeling since it’s been so long since she’s seen him, spoken to him, but the fact that her life is in danger and he’s _here_ , it sends that anger burning deep into her chest.

A part of her wishes didn’t it didn’t exist, but the rest of her is happy that it does.

The hand not holding her jacket closed tightens to a fist—it’s only then that she realizes how cold it is outside, and she’s only in her socks, “You might as well come inside.”

She doesn’t wait for him to follow.

—

The thud of the trunk slamming shut echoes behind her as she carefully eases herself onto the couch, elbows on her knees so she can rest her head on her hands.

Seconds later, she hers the thud of his boots up the front steps, and tilts her head in the direction of the door as Frank makes his way inside.

Frank carefully shuts the door behind him, drops his bag down in the entryway, and she watches as his narrowed gaze settles on her .380. She watches as he grabs it, checks the mag and the chamber, and Karen feels her face shift against her palms into a scowl.

“Of course its loaded,” she snaps as he puts it back down.

“Karen-”

“No, really. What are you doing here, Frank?”

“Nelson filled me in,” he says, and Karen’s brows hike up to her hairline, because there has _never_ been a moment in Foggy’s life that he’s willingly wanted to have a conversation with _Frank Castle_. “You want to tell me why I’m just hearing about Poindexter now?”

Karen’s fingers twitch against her temples, “And when was I supposed to tell you? Before or after you told me to walk away so you could go kill yourself over another goddamn war?”

Okay, so, the pain is making her _really_ cranky.

She should probably go take a nap, try to sleep it off.

Which—probably isn’t going to happen anytime soon since she has to deal with, well, _all of this_.

Frank sighs, and she doesn’t need to look up at him to see the way the muscle in his jaw ticks, like he has a _right_ to be pissed off about the fact that he told her to walk away, _and she did_.

“That’s not the point Karen,” Frank says as he walks deeper into the small living room, settles on the armchair in front of the couch. He props his elbows on his knees like a mirror to her, and Karen sighs as she looks up at him in time for him to say, “You’re in danger. That’s what matters.”

“I’m _always_ in danger, Frank. That’s just a fact of my goddamn life. Matt’s said he’s going to take care of it.”

The way he glowers at her bringing up Matt would be funny, if she wasn’t so goddamn pissed off.

“Yeah, because I trust _Murdock_ to get the goddamn job done and handle a goddamn psychopath with metal in his spine.”

She looks across the room at him, blinks, “How the hell do you _know_ that? What even _possessed_ Foggy to pick up the phone and call _you_?”

“He didn’t.”

God, there are times when she wants to _strangle_ this man.

“Then how the hell-“

Frank cuts her off with a shake of his head , “Lieberman got in touch with me.”

This is—none of this makes any goddamn sense.

“And when the hell did _David Lieberman_ get involved?”

“He, uh,” Frank scrubs a palm over the back of his neck. “He had an alert out on you—had one running since the hotel, I guess.”

Her brows hike back up to her hairline, and her head is starting to pound, and there is no part of her that wants to be a part of this conversation, “So what, he called you, and you came running? How did you even find this place? Matt said Foggy didn’t know where it was, just in case.”

Frank looks distinctly uncomfortable, and there’s more than a little part of her that wonders if it’s because she keeps talking about Matt, “Yeah, well,” he says, clearing his throat. “Lieberman’s in-laws own the place.”

What, the ever-loving, fuck?

“ _Who?_ ”

Frank’s jaw works, and it’s almost like he doesn’t like having someone who may or may not tangentially be a part of his life to do things behind his back.

Is almost sounds like how Matt used to treat her, before she—and probably with help from Elektra—got it into his head that she can take care of her goddamn self.

“Apparently Lieberman called Murdock after he found out you were in the hospital, got the rundown on Poindexter, and Lieberman did some digging for them, offered the place up to keep you out of the action.”

Where she goddamn well _should_ be.

Karen takes a slow, deep breath, vaguely remembers that moment in the hospital, not long after she woke up, when Matt’s phone rang, Siri’s low tones informing him that he was receiving a call from an unknown number.

He left the room for a few minutes while Foggy told her about how he almost threw down with Detective Mahoney for not letting them know the moment they found out about Poindexter’s escape, and when when Matt came back, he was—he was quiet. At the time, she thought he’d been listening out for any sign of Poindexter making his way into the hospital, but now?

This makes a hell of a lot more sense.

“Okay,” she says, even though it is absolutely, definitely _not_. “Okay. That still doesn’t explain why you’re _here_.”

“The hell it—you should have told me what was going on! You’re smart, you could have found a way to get in touch with me.”

“You told _me_ to walk away, Frank. Why the hell don’t I get to do the same?”

“Goddamn Karen, you know it’s different. There was so much—I was trying to keep you safe!”

“Well, so am I!”

Karen drops her head back in her hands, digs her thumbs into her temples and just breathes. It’s all she can do to keep her head on straight and she’s in pain and—

“You think I want you to have any part in this? To put _you_ in danger? You’ve been through _enough_ , Frank!”

“What I’ve been through doesn’t matter,” he fires right back, his trigger finger twitching against his thigh. “You’re in danger, I’m going to protect you. That’s it, Karen.”

Goddamnit, this man is the most _frustrating_ human being she has ever _met_.

“And what? You chose to come all the way out here, wherever the hell this is, instead of sticking around the action? _Punishing_ Poindexter?”

_Something_ flickers across his face at that she can’t read, and then Frank just shakes his head, “There was no choice,” he says, almost a growl. “Not with you.”

Shit.

By the time this is all over, Frank is absolutely going to break her heart again.

She pinches the bridge of her nose, then rubs her eyes, “I need to go lie down,” she murmurs into the palm of her hand.

Frank tilts his head, concern clear on his face, “You okay?”

With a sigh, she makes an aborted gesture to her side with one hand, and then heaves herself off the couch, “I don’t know if you know this, but stab wounds are shitty.”

He makes to stand when she does, but she waves him away, “I’m fine, I just need to lie down for a little while. You can get settled in, double-check the perimeter, or whatever. The fridge and the pantry are all stocked up.”

“Karen-”

But she turns, waves a hand over her shoulder, and heads toward the bedroom.

She knows she’s going to have to deal with all of this, hear Frank out on what else he has to say.

Right now though?

No.

—

Karen closes the bedroom door behind her, leans back against it and breathes a sigh.

It’s bad enough, trying to face Frank when she feels so terrible—but the fact that he’s going to be here for the foreseeable future? The fact that they’re going to be spending more time together than they ever have in all the years they’ve known each other?

It’s going to be so goddamn hard.

And she’s not ready for it.

With a shake of her head, Karen pads over to the bed and pulls the covers back, carefully slides into the winter-cold sheets.

She pulls the heavy blankets over her, curling up on her good side and tucking her hand under the pillow.

Through the closed door, she hears nothing for long minutes, before the quiet thud of footsteps—and there’s a part of her that knows that he’s letting himself be heard on purpose—sounds in the direction of the front door.

She doesn’t know what to make of that.

Either way, she’ll deal with it later.

For now, she sleeps.


End file.
